E> 'I .,r"J{ \ '-::s J / ,.... , 35 ., II - 12.. áJ); 7ffi . 00 thundering, courtroom voice what right one of her sisters had to associate his innocent granddaughter with that de- generate blackguard, Byron On Mon- day, Madame Barclay, with tight-drawn lips, told her class that she had a cor- rection to make: Mary McCarthy did not resemble Lord Byron in any par- . . ticular; she was neither brilliant, loose- living, nor unsound T HE interviews between my grand- father and Madame MacIllvra came to an end. To that remarkable marriage of minds the impediment had at last been discovered. But from this ", 'II> .. time on, Madame Barclay's marks of favor to me grew steadily more distinct, whjle the look of suffering tightened on her face, till some said she had cancer (a theory supported by the yellowness of her skin) and some said she was being poisoned by an antipathy to the Mother Superior. -MARY IV1cCARTHY